Love Me
by Remorse
Summary: The horrible memories of his brother being taken away start to flow through Iceland's mind as he angrily wonders why Denmark is so important to the other. Based of the historical event of the Treaty of Kiel, where Sweden takes Norway away from Denmark.
1. Love Me

Why.

He couldn't understand.

Why stóri bróðir Noregur liked Denmark better than him?

Why?

WHY?

WHY THE HELL, WHY!

Finland and Sweden, and Norway and Denmark. It had always been so. Finland bossing around that good-for-nothing Sweden, and Norway ignoring Denmark who flirted with him all the time.

But he knew.

He knew it.

He knew how much Norway loved that stupid asshole of a nation, fucking Denmark, and he hated him, hated, HATED.

And now he was living with him.

He remembered it far too clearly, the day Sweden took Norway away. Denmark had been bloody, leaning on his axe, not able to stand up without it. The big man had been bandaged and gritting his teeth so that he wouldn't scream from pain. Iceland had been afraid and powerless, a child not understanding why things were how they were.

And he remembered the screams.

The smell of blood.

The tears, the confusion, the grip on his hair as someone pulled his head up and held a cold blade against his throat. The words echoed in his ears: "If you want this little bastard to stay safe and sound, Norway, you're coming with us." Prussia. That sick son of a bitch. The albino nation had bent down to his ear, and huffed, breathing ragged: "I'd really like to take you with me, you know – that sweet ass of yours – ah, yeah, I'd really like to, but unfortunately England, that motherfucker, tells me to leave you to Denmark... Haha, like he'd get anything fun out of you."

And Norway, hungry and weak from the blockade and war, suffering when seeing his lover and brother being tortured, was leaving. He cried out he'd go with them, what ever, he'd do whatever they wanted him to. Prussia had grinned next to the icy nation's ear. He had smelled the war on the red-eyed nation's skin. Blood, sweat, and a somewhat sweet combination of smoke, dirt and alcohol. And he had felt it – he had felt the touches on his body, hands crawling on his skin, and he had cried out, begged for Norway to help him. "Noregur, Noregur!" he had called "Brother, help me!" And he had whined and moaned from the pain, the humiliation, the fear, not understanding why Prussia was doing such things. And Norway had shouted, screamed, begged on his knees for the silver-haired to stop, because he had known, he had seen, he had understood what the horrible, twisted man was doing to his brother, touching him like that. He had hated it, he had been disgusted, about to throw up.

Denmark, mad with rage, had tried to attack the albino holding his lover's brother. He hadn't made it far – after a few meters there had been a black boot on his way, and a rifle had hit his back, making him fall to the ground. Cold, hard green eyes, without any emotions, had looked to the man on the ground, despising the condition he was in. As Prussia had laughed, holding his sword's blade still on little Iceland's neck, England had stayed quiet, and so had Sweden.

"Why?" Denmark had growled, spitting blood. "Why are you doing this? We were best friends! Brothers! And this is how you betray me, you selfish son of a bitch?" He had been powerless. And it had scared Iceland. It had scared him to death, seeing the almighty Dane so weak.  
"Because now you have everything" had Sweden answered, his voice cold and empty. "And I have nothing." And he had looked at Norway, and taken his arm into a firm grip. "And I'm taking your everything away from you. Brother."

Norway had screamed for Denmark, for Iceland. For Sweden to stop, for Prussia to let his little brother go. Anyone. Anything. Anywhere.

But it didn't help.  
Iceland had cried out as Prussia had tossed him to the ground, laughing, thanking him for the treat. Saying he'd come again when the icy boy would be a bit older. And Iceland didn't understand. He had cried, tried to stand up, to reach for big brother. "Norge!" he had screamed. "Norge, big brother! Where are you going! Come back, Norge, please!"

He had felt strong arms wrapping around his small body, holding him against a warm chest. "It's okay, Iceland" Denmark had whispered, holding him so tight and close that he could feel the other nation's ice cold lips brushing against his ear, heart beating fast, like a bird wanting to get out from its cage. "It's okay. Big brother's only going to visit Sweden. I'll take care of you, we'll have fun together, okay? Don't worry, Iceland, big brother will be back soon. He will." But the reassuring words had only frightened him more, as he had felt the always so powerful Dane shaking, hot tears landing on his bear shoulder, big hands gripping his clothes like there was nothing he could hang on to.  
And Norway had screamed.

And Iceland had screamed.

And they had cried and shouted, calling out for each other's names, hands reaching, not able to touch.

"Don't leave me" the white-haired child had whispered, voice ragged from screaming. "Don't go away, Norge, I don't want to be alone."  
And little Iceland had watched as his brother was taken away from him, and somehow he had known.  
Big brother was not coming back.


	2. Love Me: Euphoria

It had been too many years.

Far too many.

The fire in the hearth was dying, making shadows in the corners of the room grow bigger and darker, the flames pulled away before the black emptiness would swallow the remains of their far-gone warmth and light.

But he needed no fire, no warmth, no light. It had been ice cold in his soul since that day. That dreadful day his brother had been taken away. And the memories were hunting him, chasing, invading his dreams and torturing his mind.

Ah, yes... Far too many years since he had seen the blue eyes looking at him with a far greater warmth than any fire could hold, far too many years since there had been small, soft hands caressing his silky hair.  
White strands of hair threw delicate, light shadows on pale cheeks, as Iceland let his head hang down. The shadows were reaching him, he could feel their cold fingers caress his body and soul. Like every night, he let them swallow himself. And like every night, there were bottles scattered around in the dark room, and one in his hand. 'Finlandia Vodka' said the label. He made a snorting sound, a bitter and emotionless one. If that good-for-nothing weakling Finland did nothing else well, at least the booze was great. It made him lose all sense of time, place and reality.

And he could feel it.

The hands caressing his silky, soft hair, massaging his neck and upper back gently.

He could see it.

Those eyes, blue as the sky and the fjords, that hair, like the finest grain, and that smile – like a small sun, lighting up his days.

Yes.

He could see him.

"Noregur" he breathed, leaning back in the big chair, imagining warm arms around him. And again, suddenly, he was young, holding his eyes closed as big brother took care of him. He could hear the silent lullaby.

Crash.

Suddenly, it was all broken.

As the bottle slipped from his relaxed hand and shattered to the floor, his pictures and feelings were gone. Brother. Where was he? Brother- Noregur- where did he go- come back, please-

He didn't realize talking aloud, as he rushed up from the chair, stumbled on the broken glass and fell down. He felt warm blood on his elbow, knee and palms. But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Brother. Big brother. He had to get him back.

He had to.

Had to.

Clumsily he threw himself towards a big, wooden drawer. The shadows were trying to reach him, they told him bad things. Lies. Dirty lies about Noregur.

They said he wasn't here.

They told him he had gone away.

Away, far away, forever.

But he knew that it wasn't true. It wasn't, of course it wasn't. Noregur would never leave him, never. They would always be together. Because they loved each other. They were brothers. And more. Much more. He loved Noregur, he really did. Big brother was his life.

His angel.

And as the small, heart-shaped pill made its way down his throat, he screamed. He fell to the floor and buried his face into his hands, screaming, tears pouring from his eyes. His hands were shaking, and he didn't know why. It wouldn't stop. They wouldn't leave him alone, the shadows, the lies. They said Noregur wasn't there.  
But they were wrong!

Because he could feel him, he could hear the footsteps rushing in.  
And eyes not seeing anything but what was true to them, he smiled, brother's warm smile making him happy as ever. He laid down to rest his head on big brother's lap, and he loved the feeling of soft hands embracing his cold face.

And he sung. An old, Norwegian lullaby. He knew the words, Noregur had sung it to him many times before. But for some reason he didn't remember all of them. Although it had been only a day from when brother had sung it to him. His voice was ragged and hoarse from screaming, but he still sung, a childish smile on his face.  
"Always together" he whispered "Noregur"

Somehow, he couldn't understand why the tears wouldn't stop.


	3. Love Me: Silence

Too many years.

Too many miles between them.

Too many sweet moments in his memories that were torturing him to death. He was in agony, crawling in the dark, shouting and pleading though no one heard his voice. The silence had eaten it all. All of the joy, the words, the laughter that had filled it. Even the quarrels and fights were gone.  
The silence was driving him insane.

Resting his head to the cold window glass, he desperately tried to hear the sound of the silent rain outside. There was supposed to be a sound of the rain drops hitting the ground and the glass.

But he heard nothing.

The silence rang in his ears.

And he wanted to scream, shout, cry, plead for someone to come and break the silence. He wanted to hear someone laughing – it would bring the sun to his empty days. He was wondering through an endless night, and in his night, there was no starry sky. No moon to show him his path.

He closed his eyes, the cool window glass making him feel cold. "Norge" he whispered, repeating the name silently, like he could bring the other back. How he missed him... The bright smile and the ignorance Norge showed towards him, though they both knew he loved him. They loved each other so very much.

And he couldn't live without him. His sun had gone down, been stolen by the evil, envious moon. Twisting in agony, he clawed at the glass, begging aloud for someone to give him the love of his life back. He swore he'd kill Sweden to get Norway back. He'd do anything.

He would, if he just could.

But he couldn't.

If he'd attack Sweden, Prussia, Russia and England would attack him back. And he knew that this time, he'd die. They wouldn't break the blockade – he'd starve to death. And if it would come to the worst, they'd take Island.  
He clenched his hands into fists and grit his teeth. Island... The poor boy. He was sick, so sick – sick and mad from missing his big brother.

He felt horrible. Norge would have wanted him to take care of the little brother, but he couldn't. He had no strength to do it – no courage to face the boy who had locked himself into his room and every night screamed and cried for his brother. Those times, the brief desperate moments were the only ones he dared to get close to him.

And though he saw how Island suffered, even though he suffered himself – he didn't cry. He couldn't shout, couldn't cry. There were no tears left, just the emptiness – the silence.

The silence that tore him apart.  
The silence that killed his feelings.

The silence that ate all of the memories.  
The silence that was now broken by a desperate scream.

And he knew what he would find, as he rushed to the door, through the halls and the corridors. He knew what he would have to face, and just the thought of it made him feel like his heart was about to break into pieces. Every night his heart was broken, and he still had to endure the torture.

As he pulled the door open, he found what he expected to find. The small, dark figure was on his knees, face buried into his small hands, whole body shaking from the violent sobs and screams.

And he took a deep breath, walking to the small boy, forcing a smile on his face as Island raised his gaze from his hands. The smile that made its way to the boy's face was about to break his heart, since he knew the happiness the other was going through was false. He knew Island didn't recognize him, he knew he'd hear him calling to another name soon. And he fell on his knees, sitting next to the other, once again terrified by the looks of the once so happy boy: his face was dead pale, there were black rings under his eyes, and his smile was so desperate it made him want to die. Seeking for comfort so desperately had driven him into using drugs... Gently he caressed the dead cold cheeks, and wanted to die just to avoid seeing the condition the other was in.

He listened as Island started singing the song they both knew so well. But this wasn't the voice he wanted to hear. This voice was straight from his nightmares: hoarse and ragged, shaking from the cries. Unstable, violent coughs swallowed the words he so desperately wanted to hear.

"Always together, Noregur" whispered Island, smiling as innocently as a small child, tears still pouring from his eyes as he drifted to sleep. And like every night, he held the small, withered body in his arms, embracing the cold, dry skin. "Always, Island" he whispered, voice breaking because of the horrible pain the lies caused him. But he couldn't tell him the truth. He couldn't take away the plastic happiness from the boy.

Like every night, though his body was shaking, there were no tears, and he begged for Norge to come back – to bring them back to life.

To bring them back to life, before some morning, Island wouldn't wake up to see another pointless day of this merciless and cruel life.

...before some morning, his own voice would have died from not being used.

And then the silence would have it all, and he wouldn't know who he was.

He wanted to cry.


End file.
